


The Way of Things

by ziskandra



Series: They Are Heavy [1]
Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4818293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cabanela is haunted by a future that no longer exists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way of Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



When the nightmares begin, he remembers little more than brief flashes of emotion. Every morning he wakes up with the sensation of loss heavy in his heart and a burning urge to set right what has gone terribly wrong. He does not speak of these feelings to anyone. Perhaps there's something to it, but most likely there _isn't_. His anxiety is disguised with joviality, a smile curved in the right direction, a step of a dance. Everything starts to become an elaborate act: an unspoken lie. 

It would've worked so well if only Jowd had been unable to see through his pretences. His partner ( _friend_ ) tells him point-blank that his smile does not quite reach the bags under his eyes, that the rhythm of his movements do not quite find their beat. The language Jowd uses is perhaps more direct than what Cabanela can articulate in his own mind, but they are nonetheless an artist's observations. Even despite Jowd's reassurances that all of Cabanela's faults are visible on the surface of his skin, sometimes Cabanela feels as though Jowd can glimpse the edges of his fraying soul. 

It's all a very fancy way of putting it. More simply: he sleeps like _shit_ and it _shows_. 

–

When he thinks it can't get worse, it does. That's when he starts to recall more of the nightmares. And what he does remember is enough to wake him in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, images he cannot shake burnt into his mind. His best friend, finger on the trigger of a smoking gun, and _Alma_ , oh, _Alma_. It's not that he doesn't have the words to describe what he sees but he doesn't need to, _can't_ , as if though dwelling on it might make it all the more real. But it's not and he has to keep telling himself that, though it does little to slow the furious beat of his heart in the middle of the night. 

The next time he goes to Jowd's house for dinner, he is relived by how _normal_ everything seems. Yet, Jowd can't help but notice the way that Cabanela's knuckles whiten, grasping the edge of the table as Alma walks into the room. “Everything all right?” Jowd asks, looking between his friend and his wife, an eyebrow quirked. 

Alma laughs, a tinkling sound. “I don't usually elicit such a reaction when I enter the room.” 

Whatever jest Jowd has planned (presumably something along the lines of a purred _not any more_ ) dies on his lips as he catches the look on Cabanela's face, and for good reason. Cabanela looks as though he's seen a ghost. He can't help but feel as though he _has_. Is everything all right? _No_. But he cannot bring himself to say the word. Instead, he responds airily, “Is it hot in here, or just me? I think I need some water!” He makes a show of tugging at his collar and then, before either of them can stop him, he dances away to the kitchen sink.

The motions of turning the tap and filling the glass calm him more than the water itself. He leans against the counter top, half-sitting on it, limbs stretched out in front of him, when something (someone?) brushes against his feet. He almost spills his drink as he looks down. A small black kitten stares back up at him, before rubbing her head against his legs. 

Cabanela remembers the day Jowd adopted the cat. How could he forget? The way he handled that case is still one of his greatest regrets, and Jowd had been left to clean up after Cabanela's mistakes. Sometimes he wonders if his dreams are a result of the guilt that still weighs on his mind. A poetic solution. 

It's been five years since then. Isn't it strange that the little cat hasn't seemed to age a day? 

–

The nightmares never stop, not really, he's just gotten better at handling them. Sometimes it feels like he's living a whole other life in his head at night, one filled with failure, murder and elaborate contraptions. He does his best not to let it affect his waking world, though, and he even succeeds in hiding his struggles from Jowd. It's better this way, he tells himself. This is how it has to be. 

Today is a special day. Lynne, the little girl that Jowd had saved all those years ago, has achieved her dream of qualifying as a detective. Word on the street is that Alma's cooked up quite the storm in celebration. Cabanela knows how to play his part. He pirouettes into the house, produces flowers from nowhere and wishes Lynne a happy birthday. 

He knows it's not her birthday. 

It's as they tuck into their meal, plates loaded with chicken as it's a celebration for _Lynne_ , after all, that Jowd turns to _stare_ at Cabanela, mouth slightly agape. When Cabanela meets his gaze, Jowd's expression turns to one of dawning comprehension. It takes him a moment, but Cabanela recognizes the look on Jowd's face. It's one that Cabanela has worn himself once upon a time, while seated at this very table. 

His friend appears to have seen a ghost. 

–

Cabanela would not hesitate to call Jowd his best friend, but they are not the type of men who discuss deep and intimate feelings. They are workaholics (Cabanela more than Jowd), they talk about their families (Jowd's more than Cabanela's). When those topics of conversation dry up, their next stop is usually their hobbies. Cabanela dances. Jowd paints. When Jowd asks Cabanela if everything is all right, Cabenela ignores him. It is the way of things. 

But tonight is different. Cabanela can feel it on the wind, or that might just be a fantastical whimsy passing by him on the breeze. He can't tell for certain. But they're standing out in the back garden, away from everyone else, still merrily gathered in the kitchen. Slowly, Jowd struggles to voice his thoughts, for they are heavy. “What would you do if the gods gave you a chance to save the ones you love?” 

The words hang in the air between them and words are not immediately forthcoming. Cabanela's gaze flickers from Jowd's face, towards the crowd gathered in the kitchen, then back to Jowd. “Why, I would take it, of course.” 

His answer causes his friend to wilt with relief, tension turning to a small, private smile that Cabanela cannot claim to understand. Jowd turns his eyes skyward, as though he truly is experiencing some type of divine interaction. “Then... I regret nothing.” 

Cabanela has no response, no witty retort, not even a dose of heartfelt honesty. He waits, as though expecting Jowd to offer an explanation, but he doesn't, of course. They stand in silence, and while that's nothing peculiar in itself, Cabanela can't shake the feeling that there's something that Jowd isn't telling him. 

He'll get to the bottom of this, if it's the last thing he does.

**Author's Note:**

> I've not written these two together before, and I'm a bit rusty on my Ghost Trick, but I hope that I managed to fulfill this in a way that was satisfying for you! Writing this also reminded me of how much I love this game (and also how much these idiots need to actually TALK to each other). I'm actually toying with a sequel idea where Jowd starts to put two-and-two together with regards to Cabanela's nightmares, so that may (perhaps) happen in the future!


End file.
